Again
by vainintrain
Summary: The point of being a survivor was not to survive after a disaster, but to live.


**note:** This is my first drabble (is that how it's called?). I hope you'll like it :) And as usual, tell me if I did any grammar mistake. Oh and I don't own the wonderful world of Harry Potter, but that you already know.

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She had bore this baby for nine months; she had waited for it and had never got to see it alive. They had wanted this baby, they were ready; they had concentrated all their love to make it: a child they could love, spoil and who would make the world an even nicer place. This little frail baby with blond hair, like hers and Neville's, who was born and had never cried.

They had waited but never had heard her crying. She doubted that anybody really understood what it was to give birth to a stillborn baby. Her calm and still body cradled in Neville's arms, she had been named Frankie _Oenothera Biennis_Longbottom. They had decided to name each of their children after one of their parents. The order wasn't important, as they would have many children. Some time before the birth, they had randomly picked up Frank, instead of Rosamund, Paul or Alice. They didn't know nor cared about the baby's gender: it was their child and they would treat it as such. _Oenothera biennis _are small flowers that grow on tall plants and only bloom at night. Seeking for comfort in what had helped him going through Snape's bitter comments, loneliness and self-hatred, Neville had come up with this name, because this beautiful thing had bloomed sheltered in the dark and died. However, once the herbology book closed, the bleak reality had engulfed him. They had brought her home and laid her in her cot, just for one night, swinging and holding her softly. And most of all, they had cried, silently or wailing, Neville's head resting on Hannah's shoulder, hugging her tightly, with Frankie's little body between them.

Once she had retrieved the capacity to think, she had started wondering what she had done wrong. Had she eaten something she shouldn't have? Had she rolled over her belly while sleeping? But the diagnosis of the healer had been that their daughter's heart had been too weak to stand labor. There was no name for what they were. They were not parents, they weren't orphans; they were nothing. And now she was pregnant again, eight months later.

Hannah slowly stood up from the couch where she had been lying since she had got out of her bath. Her back hurt and she was dizzy. She paused to stabilize herself, gripping the armrest tightly, pulled on her sleeves to cover her goose bumps and tightened the belt of her dressing gown before walking to the bedroom where Neville had been sleeping for the past hour, leaving the book she had finally not even opened on the couch. He had come home for the week-end, as he always did and had gone to bed straight away. 'I'm exhausted,' he had said. He had not even eaten. He had not kissed her. Things had been different for the past three months; the weeping and the hugging had been slowly replaced by a soft silence interspersed by peaks of passion and the whispering by 'Your food is on the table' followed by the sound of the creaking steps to the Leaky Cauldron. Nonetheless, they had found peace. At least, that's what she used to think. During the war, fighting had been the only way to overcome and friendship and love had carried their hope. However now, grief had made them bury themselves in their work, seeking happiness in solitude and trying to forget by seeking exhaustion. Some nights, she didn't go to bed until two and she was up at five. Shared pain was such a strange thing, in the way that it could bring people so close or on the contrary tear them apart. This is how, in the dark of her living room, on the second floor of the Leaky Cauldron, Hannah realized that their love was like a drying plant, neglected but still holding onto life, roots guzzling the scarce water down. And she felt terribly alone. The clock on the bed side table indicated midnight when Hannah took her dressing gown off and slid herself next to her husband in the hot sheets. Instinctively, he reached for her hand. She squeezed it hard. They always held hands when they fell asleep. Even when she went to sleep three hours after him, he always reached for her hand when he sensed her presence.

She must not cry; she didn't want to wake Neville up, she didn't want Neville to worry. She had to be strong for Neville. Although the sheets were hot, her body was freezing. She fought to repress the sob that was trying to break through her throat. However, a tear rolled down her cheek and she shuddered.

'Hannah, are you alright?'

His deep voice was sleepy, soft and full of worry. He patted her cheek with the back of his hand and felt the tear. She didn't know how to tell him.

'Neville, I don't know what to do.'

Now she was crying. Neville knew it had something to do with Frankie. Thinking about their baby's tiny and still body hurt him, seeing Hannah crying was like being stabbed in the heart and his eyes started gleaming with tears too, hidden in the darkness. The wound had not healed yet, although it stayed close most of the time. They had managed to come back to life, they were happy and they loved each other, but sometimes, it burst open and it was as if it had been sprinkled with salt. The room was dark. She sat up and he followed her. Hannah bit her lower lip.

'Nev, I think I'm pregnant.'

She was not a Griffindor. But she had to say the truth. She corrected herself, fighting not to sob:

'I am.'

The seal had finally been blown up. Tears were falling like bombs and she was bawling. He hugged her. Neville was fully awake now. His scent filled her lungs. She had missed it. He smelled like honeysuckle and cherry pie and it always sent shivers down her spine. When they made love, the heat made his scent embalm her skin and the sheets.

His eyes were wet with tears but he wasn't sad. It wasn't the news that hurt him, it was how she felt. A baby –again-, it felt so unreal. Was he still asleep? He tried not to compare, not to remember. This time was another time. He kissed her through her hair, combing it through with his fingers.

'Don't cry.- We're- together- in -this.- I'm –not- going -to –let- you -down.- I love you. Don't cry,' he said with his soft voice muffled with sobs, stopping between words to kiss her face.

He was crying of sadness and joy, of love and grief, but not of despair. She took a deep breath.

'I've missed you,' he whispered.

Because he had felt it too, the gap between them that was growing and getting wider and deeper. Work had been very demanding and concentrating allowed them to forget for a while. When he came back home, the only thing he wanted was to sleep and while he spent his week-ends correcting or tending his plants, she spent hers tending the Leaky. But still, when he was done with his herbology work, he missed her so much. His missed the feel of her skin on his; he missed her voice telling him about her day and about the antics of the Leaky's customers; he missed her caressing gazes; he missed how she squeezed his upper arms with her hands when they hugged and how she nuzzled in the crook of his neck; he missed her laughs; he missed catching her singing when she thought she was alone; he missed the rainy afternoons they spent playing board games without even following the rules. Making a list was rubbish, he missed her whole being.

'I've missed you too,' she whispered, almost mute, a sob in her throat, rubbing her cheek on his, 'I love you so much, so much.'

She pressed her lips between his brow and his temple.

'I'm so scared, Nev, so scared.'

'It won't happen again. They said there's no reason why it should happen again.'

As soon as he had said that, he regretted it. Even if it was true, he didn't mean to patronize her. He knew she was not only scared to lose it again; she was scared of the pain that would come back as she would go through all the stages of her pregnancy. He pulled from their embrace, put his hands on her shoulders and started massaging them. He was sinking in her eyes.

'And you had to deal with this alone because of me-'

'I only found out before I took my bath,' she dived back into his arms, 'I had doubts before, but I only found out today.'

She seemed a bit calmer but words still seemed to be fighting with sobs to exit her mouth.

'How far do you think you are?'

'I don't know, not more than a month and a half-'

Neville put his hand on her belly, but Hannah took his hands and intertwined her fingers with his, her eyes telling his that she was not ready for that. She had to get used to the idea before.

'I understand.' He kissed her forehead and for the first time that day, she smiled to him. It was a weak smile, but it meant everything.


End file.
